Rosaceous
by WonderlandSyndrome
Summary: Post-KHII/JOMC Related: Take that small, brief chance to redeem yourself. - Marluxia & Fan-Daughter/Replica One-Shot.


I loved writing this. Why? Because Marluxia thinks he is so awesome but when it comes to nurturing, we all know he will be the grandest fool of all! And I really liked writing Xanthe. She is sweet, but can be a bit of a little brat sometimes. I don't know where she gets it from ¬.¬

**Characters/Pairings: **Marluxia, Xanthe. Pairings for main story only. **Time Setting: **Post-KHII/Chap. 12-15 of _Just One More Chance_. **Location: **Radiant Garden.

**Rating/Warnings: **K+/PG - "familial" and pre-teen issues, fan-children, fan-sequel.

**Story Music:** _Roses _by Poets of the Fall.

* * *

Marluxia had a slightly bad feeling about this new life of his from the very start. For one thing, as soon as he woke up, Vexen punched him in the face and broke his nose. The man probably would have punched him some more and kicked him in the crotch if Lexaeus wasn't there to hold him back. Larxene thought it was all very funny and doubled over with laughter. Not only that, but the so-called grand Committee kept him and Larxene under watch all the time, stuck in the castle in a little dorm room each. The ex-Nobody was not used to such treatment. He was the Graceful Assassin! He was the Lord of Castle Oblivion! He had worked his way to the top of the ranks. He could have become the greatest ruler of all time. Then he fell, into the lowest pits of Hell, living under the rule of the enemy.

Over time, the bitterness subsided and Marluxia started to rethink things. Sure, this new life is not ideal, but he has a heart. It's that what he wanted all along? Is that not the reason he joined the Organization in the first place? He got a job as a florist - old habits die hard - and saved his munny in a strange thing called a back account. When Christmas came around, and Leon thought he has been _"good enough" _to start living within a society of _"normal people"_, Marluxia realised he could afford a small house rather then the apartment he was planning to get. He was very pleased.

He chose a small semi-detected home located in a pleasant cue-de-sac area with a descent-sized back garden. The plants don't listen to him as well as they did when he was a Nobody, but he managed to have the flowers blooming in early spring and he started a herd and vegetable patch in the far corner, so come harvest time he wouldn't have to worry about the food bill. Maybe he could give some of his produce to the other ex-Nobodies, who he started to call "friends" much to his surprise. Even Vexen had stopped bickering with him. Life was… good. In this own little way, and after a rocky start, he supposed with a little smirk as he drank a morning cup of green tea. As they say, things can only look up from the bottom.

Then one day, towards the end of the second spring, the Replica Plan was put into motion.

------

Marluxia has never been the nurturing type, so when he realised he would have a young child to care for, he started to think about what he was getting himself into. This Replica would not just be a Replica. It would be its own being, a being that would need love and attention like any other child in the universe. He can't just place it into a sterile corner like he did with Naminé and bring it back into the light whenever he felt like looking at it, nor can he past it around the rest of the Organization for them to look after, like a tatty rag doll pulled and pushed around. No, no. This child would have to be his number one priority. His mistreatment of the little witch would be shoved into the shadows of the past and he would provide for this new charge, giving it everything it needs.

It seemed like fate that his Replica formed into a female.

Everyone teased and said that the girl would be another Naminé but the man just scoffed and casual brushed the comments to the side. What little faith they had in him. Sure. He seemed like the last man in existence to be given a girl to protect, but he wanted to get rid of the reputation similar to that of child abuser and move ahead.

A mouth before the children where scheduled to wake-up, Marluxia spent a whole day taking the junk out of the spare bedroom, replacing the stained carpet with a nice white one and painted the ceiling white to match, and the walls in a pale lemon colour. He _was_ going to paint the room in a nice shade of tea rose, but he thought that it would be very shallow and rather sexist of him to just assume all girls like pink. Yellow is nice anyway.

The day after, he put together some white furniture in the room: a bed, wardrobe, desk, bookcase, dressing table and a few large chests and shelves for belongings. In the afternoon, he bought some clothes for the girl and a couple of toys. He wasn't sure if a girl at the age of ten-to-eleven would still be into dolls or would be just starting to grow out of them. He knew that girls matured at a few quick pace, but he got a few anyway.

Marluxia had thought long and hard about a name for the lass. Even before he sorted out the bedroom. He thought about a few possible choices until he believed he found the perfect name: Xanthe. A nice little Greek name that means "bright", or "yellow". Maybe that is why he painted the room in that shade. It could have been. Or maybe it was fate again, the Gods playing with his head. He still doesn't know. Does not _want_ to know.

------

"She woke up sometime during the night" Vexen explains as he leads Marluxia down the medical corridor of the castle. "Luckily she pressed the assistance button or I wouldn't have known."

"How is her health?" Marluxia asks quietly, in-control. In his chest, his heart is thumping, deafening him with blood.

"She was fine after a good meal." Vexen let a smirk drift onto his lips. "You are a very healthy man yourself, Marluxia. It must have passed through the genes."

"Can she walk yet?"

"She took a few shaken steps this morning but she is still pretty bowlegged. We will try again this evening."

"Hmm."

"Something troubling you, Marluxia?" the scientist asks. "I seem to be in another world all together."

"…When you saw your own girl, Xaviera, fully awake for the first time, what did you feel?" Marluxia asks the older man. Vexen stops in front of a door, and places his fingers to his chin in a pondering manner. He thought about that moment he had always replayed in his mind for a very long time. It makes Marluxia a little more nervous.

"…I can't really say" Vexen shrugs after a long while. "It was one big explosion of emotion to be honest, Marluxia." He pulls a ring of keys from his lab coat pocket, and places one of the keys into the door's lock. "You will understand when it hits you." He turns the gold-coloured key and pushes the door open, taking one step into the white room. Marluxia looks over his shoulder and something inside flipped uncomfortable.

The girl in the bed dressed in a white nightgown quietly reading looks so much like him. Too much like him. They have the same heart-shaped face, the same wide shoulders; she is just a touch paler in skin tone and her carnation-pink hair is more fluffy and untidier then his, resembling the head of a dandelion clock. Her cheeks and nose are splattered with cerise-coloured freckles, and Marluxia has no idea where they originated from. Her eyes are haunting. They are blue, dark, deep, his. Those are _his_ eyes in her sockets. She stole them. The girl looks up and smiles at the ice mage.

"Good afternoon, Vexen" she says politely, voice smooth and lightly sugared, a calm smile on her flushed lips. As she looks pass the ash-blond man and sees Marluxia standing in his shadow, her whole expression changes and something sparks in her eyes. Her face looks slightly confused but her irises have the light of dawning realisation. She _knows _who this man is. She knows their connection in life, in history. Marluxia gulps.

"Good afternoon to you too, little one" Vexen says to the child. He places a hand on the younger man's shoulder and pushes him forward into the room. "I believe you know who this is."

The girl nodded her head. "It's Father." A shiver passes through Marluxia's frame. She is calling him by the "father" title? He would never got used to that.

"…Hello," Marluxia says, giving the girl a nod.

"Hi" she says back.

Vexen sees that this is his time to go and leave them be. "I will leave you alone to get to know one another. I'll bring dinner later." Marluxia opens his mouth to call after him, but Vexen is out of the door quicker then a flash, slamming it behind him. Marluxia is all alone, with just the girl in the sick bed.

"…Vexen said that you would name me."

Marluxia looks at the girl properly. Her hands are folded over her lap and book, and she is sat up right, back straight. All grace. The man nods his head and runs a hand through his hair.

"Yes. Right… I decided to call you Xanthe… Is that alright?"

Xanthe nods her head. "It sounds nice." Marluxia perches himself on the edge of the bed and looks down, running his hand over the bed sheets to get rid of any wrinkles in the fabric.

"I have a room ready for you back at home" he says softly, not looking up. "It's a little empty at the moment but I can buy you a few things to make it more like home… I will bring you some clothes on my next visit."

"You don't like me, do you?" Xanthe asks, tilting her hair to the side. Marluxia's eyes widened.

"I never said that."

"…So you do like me?" The girl is a little confused and cocks an eyebrow. The man sighs, shrugs.

"I don't know. It will take some time to get used to you."

To his surprise, Xanthe smiles at him. "Good enough."

------

Two mouths later.

Out of the five girls they have, Xanthe seems to be the feminine one. She is the one who prefers to wear pale dresses with bright, colourful tights over shorts and jeans. She is the one who laughs with a soft giggle rather then a chortle or a cackle or a snort. She is the one who looks fragile, breakable, the porcine girl. In reality, she is anything but.

Xanthe is flexible, strong. Marluxia has seen her doing one-palmed handstand on the balance beam, fighting against gravity and winning. She can do back-flips, cartwheels, rolls, one after another, skirt ruffles flying every which way. She likes tackling the boys into the biggest, muddiest puddles during games of football or rugby, laughing her head as they all fight for the ball in the dirt. She can ever pin down the earth-boy Lex if she catches him off-guard, and Lex is much bigger then her, far more solid. Marluxia makes her walk on newspaper up to the bathroom when she comes home, because Xanthe likes to take off her shoes to play. Her legs are like roots: white and coated with brown.

The first few weeks were awkward. Marluxia sometimes forgot about the child overnight, and in the morning he was confused to why there is a doughnut missing from the box and the fact that the milk level in the bottle had dropped dramatically. He apologised and Xanthe just rolled her eyes at his stupidity, dumping her cereal bowl into the sink.

Xanthe is at a difficult age. Sometimes she is the most mature creature in the world. She can be polite, she can be a true lady. The girl can be as dignified and classy as any grown woman. Then there are the times which she is a complete and utter little monster. She can howl and scream and bite and kick. Her voice would become shrill and her face would be inflamed with rage. Sometimes towards Marluxia himself. The man doesn't understand little girls so he is powerless, finding himself screaming back to make her shut up, hoping she will burn out.

They fight a lot about her learning progress.

------

From the living room which faces into the street, Marluxia can see Xanthe and Xaime huddled together under the tree plated on the sidewalk. Xaime is Luxord's boy and they live just down the road from them, so obviously he was the one that hung around Xanthe the most. They walk together in the morning to the castle for lessons, and sometimes invited each other around for tea. Marluxia didn't hate Xaime. The lad is polite enough and a good kid all-in-all… but there is a daring, cocky part of him that is a little unnerving. He is slightly mischievous. He is physically older then Xanthe too by a few non-existing mouths so she partly looks up to him. Trouble ahead? Maybe. In the shadows, they have a piece of paper between them. Marluxia is suspicious. He opens the front door and the children turn around to face him quickly. Xaime takes the paper and shoves it into his back pocket.

"You are giving the wrong idea hanging out here" Marluxia says coolly, leaning on the doorframe and folding his arms over his chest. "Care to come inside, Xaime?"

"Um." The young blond time mage puts on his most handsome, charming smile. "No thanks, Marluxia sir. Dad will want me to go home and have my tea soon."

"Very well." The man's gaze turns from the boy to the girl. "Come inside, Xanthe."

"…Yes, Father." Xanthe runs up the path and up the steps, pushing passed the man to get into the house. Marluxia grabs her arm before she can run away from him.

"Xaime, please give me Xanthe's test paper. Now." His voice is hard. The boy's lips purse and he pales a little. After a moment, Xaime slowly walks into the light and towards the man. When he is close enough, he pulls the paper out of his pocket and hands it to Marluxia. A little ashamed of himself, he doesn't look at Xanthe. "Thank you, Xaime" Marluxia says. "I suggest you go home now."

The boy nods his head. "Okay, sir. See you later, Xanthe." Xaime runs all the way down the path and along the pavement, out of sight. Marluxia waits until he hears a distant slam of a front door before he slips back inside. Xanthe tries to sneak up the stairs.

"Where do you think you are going?" Marluxia asks sharply. Xanthe pauses on the steps and turns around to face him. Her expression is negative and gloomy. The man sighs and unfolds the paper. "It's not very nice to have your little friends help you hide your errors, Xanthe."

"He offered to" the girl whispers.

"…Let's just look at the damage." Marluxia casts a look over the dog-eared parchment. It is just a simple spelling test. Vexen sometimes gives the children the odd pop quiz in different subject to keep their minds sharp. Although Xanthe is a clever child and gets good marks in other topics, her spelling is less then to be desired. In this test, she got twenty-five of the thirty spellings wrong. Vexen had been nice and written _"better luck next time"_ in the bottom corner. "This is not the most excellent result, Xanthe."

"I improved a little," Xanthe insists, putting on a sad smile.

"You improved by three marks. That is not good enough," Marluxia's eyes are stern and hard. He is not impressed. "You need to listen in class more."

"I do listen in class" Xanthe frowns. "I just… I don't like literacy."

"That is not an excuse." Marluxia places his hands on his hips, furrowing his brow. "If you had dyslexia or some other learning disorder, then that would be a good excuse--"

"How do you know I don't have dyslexia?" Xanthe scoffs, copying his hand-on-hip pose.

"I would know if you were dyslexic because you would have gotten more of the spellings wrong more of the time. These are just the spelling of someone who can't be bothered."

Xanthe's eyes widen. They are slowly turning black with anger. "I am very bothered about my spelling for your information" she hisses. "_I just don't get it!_"

"Then ask Vexen for help!"

"Do you know how embarrassing that is? I have a reputation to keep."

"You're eleven. You don't _have_ a reputation yet!" They stare at each other for some time, eyes locked, before Xanthe's bottom lips starts to quiver and she runs up the stairs.

"You just don't get it."

"Xanthe, get back here! Xanthe!" Marluxia runs up the stairs after her, but only makes it to the bedroom door in time to have it slam in his face. He calms down and knocks. "Xanthe." No answer, not even a noise so he sighs, giving up. He walks down the stairs. "Dinner will be ready at six."

He thinks about this problem carefully. Maybe the lass is right. Maybe she is right and he doesn't get "it", whatever "it" was in the equation. It has been a very long time since he has been a child himself and he had never been a young girl, thank Gods. Maybe he does not understand the embarrassment of being labelled the one who can't spell in a group of friends, because he had never ever been that in a group like that... Then again, Xanthe might be just acting like a prissy, moody little terror again.

------

Xanthe sighs into the full-length mirror on the inside of her wardrobe door and pulls her shirt back down again. She pokes one of her small breasts with her finger, feeling it yield under the pressure. Yes. Even at this early time in her life, puberty is being a bitch and came around a little prematurely. They are pretty sore too, and they are just… _there_, if you understand her meaning. She hasn't even started her period yet and she was already blooming… They are a touch bigger then normal too, which doesn't help her problem.

Vests are no longer good. Too tight and no support. The other children are noticing as well. The boys stare sometimes. Not in a disgusting, perverted manner. It's just weird and awkward from seeing your friend change so quickly. The only other girl going through this at the moment is Xenia, who is the eldest girl and she said that Xaldin got her some bras. She said they helped a lot… but then agan, she has already started her period and her breasts look the right size for her body. She's normal. And Marluxia is Marluxia; not Xaldin or Axel or Vexen. Xanthe closes the wardrobe door and bottles up all her courage. She goes straight downstairs into the kitchen, where Marluxia is finishing washing the dishes. She stands in the doorway, her fingers meshed together. The man looks at her over his shoulder.

"What's wrong, Xanthe?"

"…Father, please may I have some munny?" she asks.

"Why do you munny for?" Marluxia asks, smirking. "What are you planning to buy?"

Xanthe looks at the ground, brushing. Her freckles melt into the flush. "…Underwear."

Marluxia arches a brow at her. He picks up a dish towel and wipes his hands dry. "Why do you need underwear for? Before you arrived, I made sure that your drawer was supplied with enough socks and panties to last you for a long time."

"I know. That's not what I mean…" The girl takes a deep breath and puts on a serious face, looking up at the man with great profoundness. "I need the munny to purchase some training bras. That's all." Marluxia turns fully around to face her and Xanthe swears that the man had had a second-fast heart-attack in the time it took to turn. He is pale and his eyes are as wide as the moon. Obviously, she had shocked him deeply.

"…You're eleven" he says slowly, repeating his well-used excuse, used as the reason why she can't do things she is not aloud to do. "You can't… You don't need… _them_."

"Yes, I do" Xanthe insists. "I am a growing girl you know. This is one thing that a girl goes through. My boobs--"

"You don't have--!" Marluxia can't even bring himself to say the word. There is no way that a girl he just received a few mouths ago could… No! He will not believe it. She is makes this whole thing up, just to get attention she doesn't deserve. Then Marluxia makes the mistake of letting his gaze accidentally drop down from her pleasant face to her chest. Although she is wearing a loose fitted jumper and although they are not _very_ big, they are still quiet obvious. Blushing, Marluxia looks away. He looks at anything but at her. He doesn't even want to look her in the eye. "…They don't look so bad."

"But they feel sore and they are starting to hurt when I run about" Xanthe huffs, becoming quite angry with the man. "How can I train when I'm in pain all the time?"

"Xanthe, I am not talking about it now."

"But Father--!"

"I need to make a phone call." He ushers her out of the door in a big hurry. "We will discuss this later."

"What! Father, I--"

The man closes the door on Xanthe before she can say anything more. He takes a moment to breath, to gain his composure before picking the kitchen phone and punching in Vexen's number. The git has a lot of explaining to do. On the other end of the line, a very disgruntled Vexen picks up the receiver. In the background Xaviera, Xoán and Xosé are talking really loudly.

"What is it, Marluxia? I'm in the middle of making the children their lunch--"

"What did you do to her!" the younger man barks.

A brief pause. "Marluxia, I know a fair number of "hers" around here. Which one are you referring to?"

"Who do you think, you fool! I mean Xanthe!"

"Why? What is wrong with her? And please stop screaming at me. Your voice is annoying me." The children behind Vexen chuckle.

"Look." Marluxia drops the volume and tries to get a grip. "I didn't know what has happened to her, and I don't know why but now she is starting to develop…" The coward trials off, because he doesn't want to say the word. Vexen sighs, shifting his hold on the phone.

"She's developing what? An illness? Rashes? Help me out here, boy."

"…breasts."

"…_Is that all?_" Vexen is not impressed in the slightest. Marluxia can picture him with a hand on his hip. "I was worried that the poor child was suffering from something serious. I know see that she is just suffering from a stupid father."

"Xanthe is sick?" whimpers Xaviera.

Vexen turns to face his girl. "No, dear. Xanthe is fine. Marluxia is just being a tit." He didn't even cover the mouth piece as he said it. He turns his attention back to Marluxia on the phone. "So she is developing breasts now. What of it?"

"Nothing if you don't count the fact that she is _only eleven!_" Marluxia growls. He is so close to losing it again. "I don't know if something went wrong in her genes or you just wanted to mess with me or you are just a dirty old man--"

"_Excuse_ _me!_"

"--but this can't be normal, right? You made the Replicas, did you not? It's _your_ fault!"

Vexen sighs. "Marluxia, did your Somebody ever listen in sex education class?"

"…What?"

"Because if he did, you would probably know that girls can start going through puberty at the average ages of nine to fourteen."

"…They do?"

"Yes, you hollow-headed moron."

"…Alright." Marluxia sits down at the kitchen table, supporting his aching head on his arm. "I understand now. She is at the right age… but they are still… obvious."

Vexen sighs again. "Gods give me strenght. Marluxia, what are flowers?" Marluxia doesn't understand the question. Well, he knows what a flower _is_ - he _is_ a somewhat flower mage for goodness sake - but why would Vexen ask him such a question?

"…Flowers are the reproductive structures found in flowering plants."

"Hallelujah! We are getting somewhere. Flowers are big colourful, lurid, flamboyant sexual organs."

"Vexen!"

"Don't deny it." Marluxia can't. Vexen goes on. "Mages are embodiments of their elements. She is a flower mage. Flowers are showy to attract pollination. In human behaviour, well-endowed women are seen as the most attractive. So if she is an embodiment of flowers, it's no surprise that this is happening, is it?" Marluxia has no comeback, no intelligent saying. He is frozen mentally.

"Hey, Vexen." In the distance, Xosé is smirking and calling out at the top of his growling voice. "If what you said about the flowers are true, does that mean Marluxia has a large c--"

"Xosé! If you don't keep your mouth shut, you will be--"

Dial tone. Vexen didn't even say goodbye. Marluxia can't blame him. The scientist is watching three children. He is having trouble with just the one. Quietly, Marluxia rests his head on the table in front of him and sighs deeply, making his mind blank so the headache will dull. Once again, he is questioning his logic and ideas against Xanthe's - He has done this a lot. She just… shocked him, that is all.

Marluxia does not get worried or flustered over little children. What true man does? …Then again, the other men with girls under their care within their circle liked them, sometimes carried them on shoulders, let them do as they please as long as they were safe. Gods above, what is happening to them all? Where did the Organization go? Marluxia walks to the door, to call Xanthe back. The girl is standing right outside the door, hands on hips like a unimpressed house wife. The man looks at her face and sighs.

"…I will give you some munny tomorrow and you can go shopping."

The girl's expression relaxed, becoming neutral. "Thank you." Her hands drop loosely to her sides. With that said, she turns around and makes her way a little down the hallway and up the stairs.

"…Would you like me to accompany you?" Marluxia asks in a normal tone, wondering if it's his place to ask. Xanthe pauses, leaning over the banister to look at him. She sucks her bottom lip.

"I'll be fine on my own" she says. "Besides, I don't think a man of your dignified disposition would enjoy being in the ladies' underwear section." Marluxia nods his head as if he understands and Xanthe gives a brief nod back, before climbing up the rest of the stairs. The man goes back into the kitchen to finish the dishes.

------

"Father."

Marluxia looks up from his book and looks at the girl sitting on the floor, television remote in her hands. He had no interest on what to watch, so he let Xanthe channel-surf. Now she is looking up at him with large, curious eyes. He lows his book.

"Yes, little one?"

"What are they doing?" She points to the screen, the recorded performance of an large classical ballet recital on a huge stage. Judging by the leading lady's white and silver costume with a glittering feather headpiece, it is possibly Tchaikovsky's _Swan Lake_. Marluxia forgot that Xanthe has only been around for a few mouths and doesn't know everything yet.

"They are dancing, in the form of ballet."

"Ballet?"

"Yes. The performance usually tells a story, and involves a lot of miming and acting. Highly technical and complex. It's one of the oldest types of dance in known history."

Xanthe nods her head and turns back to the screen. She's amazed by the dancers' strength and grace. The lead ballerina steps into the en-pointe position, standing confidently on her toes, without a sign of pain shown in her face. How grand she looks, how beautiful. Xanthe silently memorises every pose and stand, her socked feet inching and shifting in time with the ballerina, sliding along the floorboards.

------

The weather is nice enough for the four children to move their homework session out into the back garden. There is a hammock strung up between the apple and lime trees, the right size for two men, or four children in this case. They are packed into it like sardines - Xanthe and Roxanne on one end, Xenos and Xaime on the other. It doesn't sway with their weight, and their shoes litter the soft, green grass underneath.

"Vexen must be having a laugh" Roxanne scoffs, flicking through the pages of her work book so fast that white sparks almost jump off the girl's fingertips. "How much work does he give us? Slave labour, is this. Total slave labour"

"But is it better then going to normal school and having nasty, smelly teachers, right?" Xenos asks, the scars on his cheeks bending around his smirk.

"I guess," Roxanne shrugs, "…although Vexen smells funny too. Like chemicals and cookies." Xanthe giggles, looking down on the sheet of fractions. She is too dozy to pay much attention to the problems. It must be the overdoes of pollen in the air. It makes her sluggish and sleeping. She often sleeps in the tulip and dahlia beds during the afternoons. It's better then sleeping pills. The sound of snapping fingers brings her back to reality.

"Are you still with us, Xanthe?" Xaime asks, a little concerned.

"Hmm?" The girl looks at him, looking pretty intoxicated. "Yes. I'm here." She waves at him to prove it. "Hello."

Xaime laughs, waving back. "Hi, princess."

"She's high off pollen again" Roxanne sniggers, ruffling the older girl's pinkish hair with long fingers, like she is nothing but a lovable dog. "I get like this when a thunder storm comes around." Xanthe shakes her head from side to side in attempt to de-pollen her mind. It makes it better but her left temple starts to throb a bit.

"I think we better call it a day," Xaime sighs. He closes his textbook with a slam and drops it skilfully onto the grass. "Obviously Xanthe is too off her head to continue."

"I'm fine, Xaime" the girl whines, pouting a little, "and it's only six-thirty."

"No it isn't." Xenos furrows his brow in confusing. "It's six o'clock…" Unsure, the boy looks over to Xaime. "Right?" The blond shakes his head. He should know the time, being who he is. Xenos' honey eyes widen. "Oh, crap!" He all but falls onto the ground trying to get out of the hammock, and it sways. He scrambles for his trainers and squeezes them onto his feet in a hurry. "I'm half-a-hour late! Dad is meant to be taking me shooting practice." He stuffs all of his papers and books and pens into his rucksack and heads for the gate down the side of the house. "Gotta go!"

"Hey! Space monkey!"

He turns down around and glares at Xaime. "What?"

"Why don't you just portal-jump home rather then walk?" Xaime suggests, grinning at boy as the idea sinks in.

"…Oh, right. I can do that, can't I?" With that, Xenos rips a dark purple portal out of the air, and with a cheerful "see you" he jumps in. The portal melts away. Xaime rolls his bright blue eyes and smirks at the girls.

"He's a daft lad, isn't he?"

"Boy's a fool" Roxanne sighs. She climbs out of the hammock and begins to pull on her boots and poncho. "I better get going myself."

"I thought Larxene didn't give you a curfew, Roxanne" Xanthe says curiously.

"Yeah, but she's taking me out tonight, so I have to get dressed and dolled up as it were." Roxanne then remembers something. "Oh!" She digs into her back jeans pocket and pulls out a glossy page of a magazine. She hands it to Xanthe. "This is for you."

"What is it?" the flower girl asks, unfolding the paper carefully. Looking at it, she finds that it is a advertisement for a small dance school in the centre of the city, offering many types of classes to choose from: jazz, tap, tango, hip-hop, belly, salsa, quickstep and - the one that captures Xanthe's attention - ballet. Ever since she watched the show on the television, she had been fascinated with the dance. She has borrowed ballet books from the castle library and been trying to copy the steps for the pages. Going to an actual class would be _brillant_. She smiles. "Thanks Roxanne."

"No problem. I just saw it and thought of you." With that, Roxanne throws her messenger bag onto her shoulder and walks out of the garden. "See you two tomorrow." As soon as the gate rattles shut behind her, Xaime sits up.

"Are you going to sign up for it then?"

Xanthe looks at him, midnight blue eyes meeting maya ones. She looks away, biting the inside of her cheek and folds the advert up again, stuffing it into her skirt pocket.

"Maybe. I will have to think about it."

"You mean you _have_ to _do it_" the boy insists. "Xanthe, what is stopping you? You love dancing. You're always spinning and tiptoeing around the rest of us." He brings his knees to his chest, leaning slightly forward towards her. "If you don't, you might regret it."

"You're not taking piano lessons and you're doing brilliantly teaching yourself" the girl says with a sigh, crossing her arms at him. The boys smiles smugly, looking very pleased with himself.

"I am, aren't I?"

"And you are not bigheaded about it at all."

"Certainly not."

Xanthe laughs. This is why she likes Xaime. He's funny and cocky but never arrogant, and he is a good friend to boot… not to mention a nice-looking lad, with his clear skin, platinum blond hair, inquisitive blue eyes, and he has a nice, casual sense of fashion. Even his silver earrings and left eyebrow stud looks awesome on him… Xanthe snaps out of it and sits up. If the boy ever knew about her thoughts just then- oh, the embarrassment!

"I don't know, Xaime. What if they don't let me join the lessons?"

"Why should they do that?" Xaime says in response. "You're strong, you're graceful, and you're a nice-looking lass. You can be a leading lady if you wanted." Xanthe tries for very best to fight down a blush, and to control her growing smile.

"…T-Thanks, Xaime… but I think I should talk to my father about this first."

"When?"

"I don't know…" She trails off, seeing that Xaime's expressions has turned concerned and unsure, for her sake only. Xanthe looks downward, towards her lap. The boy reaches out and touches her face, stroking her freckled cheek with the back of his index finger with a ghostly touch. His voice turns mature and soothing.

"You shouldn't be scared of Marluxia, love."

"I am not scared of Father… I just don't know how to approach him properly or talk to him about things…" Xanthe sighs, very disheartened and for the first time since he was created, Xaime doesn't know what to do. He doesn't like seeing his friends upset… He doesn't want to see Xanthe upset at all. Then, something sparks in his eyes. They flash a shade brighter, like when he is being creative or cunning.

"…If I give you some encouragement, will you try to talk to Marluxia?"

Xanthe cocks an eyebrow and slows raises her head. "What are you talking abo-_Hhmmp!_"

Suddenly the world topples over and Xanthe is on her back, with the sky and Xaime above her, mouth to mouth. Xanthe gasps, her face burning and her eyes widen with shock. Xaime is _kissing her_. That has never happened before. Ever. She had never been kissed on the lips before. On the forehead and on the cheeks, sure, but never on the lips. And with _Xaime_. Apart from that little push, he isn't doing anything wrong either. He isn't grabbing her improperly or forcing his studded tongue into her mouth. Not at all. It's just a simple, sweet little kiss, a slightly brush of lips. As the girl finally un-tenses, and she relaxes into his kiss, Xaime pulls away. His face is flushed in red too, and his smile is pleasant and satisfied, as if he had wanted to do that for a very long time. Xanthe stares up at him, blinking slowly, then reaches up for another kiss. Xaime presses a finger to her lips, stopping her.

"If you talk to your dad about dance class," he sooths, "and go to sign-up for them, I will give you another kiss. Deal?" Xanthe, without thinking, nods her head. Xaime smiles. "Good, because I would like another kiss too."

Xanthe smiles too, and lets Xaime slouch down next to her, lets him place a comfortable arm around her shoulders and she snuggles up to his side, happy and content as the breeze rocked the hammock rhythmically, peacefully.

In the kitchen, Marluxia moves away from the window.

------

He knows that he looks foolish. He knows he looks insane. He knows that, from the right distance, it look like he is shouting at the tree. He knows that he is also drawing a lot of confused attention to himself from the public. However, he does not care, because he knows he is actually bellowing at a very grumpy Xanthe, who has perched herself high on a sturdy branch, and is refusing to come down again.

"Xanthe, I am not messing about," he says firmly and strictly, point his finger up at the leaves. "I want you to get out of the tree _right now_." The girl gives the man a venomous glare from her bough, scoffing. Marluxia clenches his teeth. "Do _not_ test my patience, little miss. I want you out of the tree by the time I count to three. Understand?" The girl doesn't seem to acknowledge his warning, and this just enrages Marluxia even more. "Xanthe, I'm going start counting… One… Two… Two-and-a-half… Two-and-three-quarters… Xanthe, I don't know any more fractions… Three! Go out of there!"

"No!"

"Young lady, you are being impossible." They were having yet another argument about her failing literacy grade and Xanthe - angry and bitter - thought it would be a good idea to have the man chase after her through the streets of the Garden and when they made it to the park, she disappeared up the biggest tree possible, manipulating the branches to help her escape the man's grasp. Today is not a good day for Marluxia. "Xanthe, as long as I'm your guardian and you live in my house, you live by my rules."

Xanthe laughs mockingly at him. "Some ruler."

"Don't give me that cheek," the man is now barking up at her, "I was the Lord of Oblivion Castle in my prime--!"

"And look how _brilliant_ that turned out to be" Xanthe drawls, amused at the man's angered expression. Marluxia is so close to snapping. His eyelid is twitching like a madman's.

"…If you don't get out of the tree right now, I will climb up there and _pull you out of it_."

"Yeah, _right._"

"Don't think I won't do it, you little brat-- Ouch!" An acorn nails him between the eyebrows and he finally broke. "_That is it!_" He jumps up and manages to pull himself up onto the first branch manually, which much is harder then just making the branch yield down toward him.

"Oh dear." Seeing the man coming closer and closer, Xanthe decides to make more distance, forcing the tree to work for her as she climbs higher and farther away from the ground. Trailing behind, Marluxia is struggling to catch up to her. He isn't as unnatural fit now as a mortal as he was as a Nobody and after just a few yards up, he is losing his breath and his sturdiness.

"Ah. Xanthe, you're-- oh Gods, help me-- you are going to be in so much trouble when I get you. Ouch! Damn twig. You're-- mm-- going to run out of tree so-- Ahh!" Then a branch snaps under his feet and he falls down onto the grass below, landing on his back like a poor turtle. The ache burns up and down his spine. "…Ow!" Although angry with him, Xanthe is concerned about the man and in a few artful jumps, she is on the lower boughs and is hanging above him like a sloth, clinging onto the tree with legs and arms.

"Father, are you alright?" Marluxia opens his eyes slowly, glaring up at the child with hard, burning eyes, irises almost black and he makes an annoyed noise like a growl. Xanthe sees her error. "...Uh-oh." Before the girl can scramble away again, a strong hand grabs her bare ankle and pulls her down into Marluxia's grasp. She howls and hisses, trying to escape but Marluxia doesn't weaken his hold, throwing her easily over his shoulder, fire-fighter style.

"Stop kicking, Xanthe. It's not going to work."

"Put me down!" She struggles and hits his aching back. "You can't do this to me."

"You are my Replica. I can do with you as I please" Marluxia, with a tight grip on her legs, carries her through the crowds of staring people. He doesn't care what they think. "I have had enough of your idiotic, ill-mannered behaviour. You're grounded until I say otherwise."

Xanthe's eyes widen. "What! No! You can't!"

"You are mature enough to take punishment, if you are old enough to run away and wear make-up and prance around and kiss boys--"

""Kiss boys?" Oh Gods!" Xanthe buries her face into her hands, utterly embarrassed. "You _saw_ that?"

"You think a flower mage don't know what happens in his own back garden, foolish girl." Marluxia shifts his hold on his charge and makes a beeline back home. "Trust me when I say you are not going to smooching Xaime for awhile."

"It wasn't… We just…" Xanthe's face creases with misery and she starts to sob, cranky, mad tears rolling down her cheeks. "You jerk. You bastard! I hate you! _I_ _hate you so much!_"

Marluxia is hated by many people. One more on the list will not hurt.

------

He took away her phone and portable TV and stopped her from using the computer in the conservatory. All the privileges are out of the window. Playing with her friends: forget it! Xanthe leaves for school and comes back in the evening, and she is not aloud to visit the corner shop for sweets on the way back. Roxanne and Alexa tried to sneak into the garden to see her at one point but Marluxia ran them off his land. Xaime knows he isn't in Marluxia's good books and so doesn't dare walk up the street towards their house. He waits at the very bottom end of the cue-de-sac to walk with Xanthe to the castle, holding hands.

The girl stays up in her room most of the time, unless she has chores, which she does in cold silence. For dinner, she takes her plates into the garden to eat there, walking around Marluxia like he is plagued. He frowns slightly as she disappears to the patio.

A week and so after falling out of the damnable tree, Marluxia is sorting out dirty laundry at the table, one weekly job that makes him feel more mortal and "normal" then other things. He sighs as he wonders how he is going to get the grass stains out of his and her jeans. Separating colours from the whites, he starts to empty out pockets of little, slim-waist skirts, finding notes, pens, tubes of lip-gloss, hair clips, picked daises that have die without being at the lass' side. Something like fancy paper crumples in his grasp, and he pulls out a page of a magazine.

Curious, he opens it up, flatting out the creases against the tabletop. Seeing that it is an glossed advert for a small dance school from a magazine, he sighs, holding it in his hand. Marluxia makes up his mind and finds himself walking out of the kitchen and up the stairs, going straight to Xanthe's door, which is now covered in postcards and posters from here and there. He knocks on the door.

"Xanthe?"

No answer so he turns the handle and steps inside without an invite. The lemon walls bare pictures and poster now, and the chests and plastic storage boxes are overflowing. She has a few more dolls, but they are too decorative to be playthings so they sit on a shelf, gazing around the room with glass eyes and painted, pouting lips. Clean, fuzzy teddy bears with ribbon bowties sit on the end of her bed like a private army.

Xanthe is sat at her dressing table, head on surface-top. One of her jewellery boxes is really a music box and she absently pushes the miniature dancer around, coaxing rings from the clogs. She doesn't look at him but she acknowledges Marluxia's presence.

"What do you want?"

"Some company" Marluxia shrugs. He sits down on white bed sheets, the page in his hand. "It gets stupidly boring around here with little conversation… I found a interesting advert on ballet classes just now while I was reading your dresses." Xanthe snaps around to snatch the page away but the man pulls it out of her reach, smirking. The girl draws her hand back slowly. "I might not know how to deal with children properly," the man says, "but I am not dense. I know you like the art of dance. A blind man can see that."

"…I didn't leave it there for you to find" Xanthe mumbles, looking down at the carpet.

"I know," Marluxia says, "…Taking up ballet might help with your battle training, with your footing and her movements. Like boxers."

Xanthe looks up from the floor, towards the grinning man. "…Will you let me take the classes then?" she asks.

"Well, that depends." Marluxia places the page on the bedside table, holds his hands on his lap. "Classes cost a little bit of munny, which will come out of my pocket. If I pay, you need to be committed… and for you to improve your grades, that will be all the better."

"I don't--"

"If you don't understand something, you ask for help, Xanthe." The girl falls quiet. Marluxia looks at the child with serious eyes, then relaxes again. "…I might have been a good Nobody, but I am far from an acceptable father. I am not even an acceptable human. Neither of us are, and we are almost complete opposites so I guess we are a match made in heaven." Xanthe lets slip a giggle and Marluxia arches eyebrows at her in a surprised but happy manner. "I hate arguing with myself normally, so disagreeing with my Replica is not nice at all… Do you think we can find a playing field that is fair for both of us?"

"…_Maybe_" Xanthe hums playfully, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Will you come and watch my shows?"

"Of course I will," Marluxia purrs playfully. He gives a small half-bow to her. "I am a gentlemen if nothing else. I will never disappoint a lady… Do you think we can shake hands on this? For now?"

"For now" Xanthe smiles. She stands up and Marluxia thinks she is literally going to shake on it, only to surprise him by placing her arms around his neck in a embrace, her face resting in the crook of his neck. After a moment of working out what the hell is going on, Marluxia wraps his arms around her slim waist, pulling her onto his lap. He can't remember the last time he hugged her properly, maybe he never did… but it feels nice, in its own way. "Does that mean I'm not grounded anymore?" Xanthe asks. Marluxia twists his mouth awkwardly.

"I'm not sure about that," he says. "You _did_ make me fall out of a bloody tree." Daringly, he plants at kiss on the base of her neck. The girl smells of roses - white and yellow ones - and of wildflowers like water-lilies and violets and daffodils. Her perfume makes the man want to sneeze.


End file.
